


Bliss

by Deckles15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, dean winchester thinks too hard for his own good, don't worry it's just the beginning, everything is innocent, for now, walk down memory lane goes right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7807981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deckles15/pseuds/Deckles15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey everyone!<br/>This is my first ever attempt at writing fan fiction, so forgive me if I made some mistakes with the tags and other details. Hopefully I'll be able to fix it along the way and add some more while I figure out where this story is going because I am still not sure right now, we'll se how it goes. Keep in mind that I'm veeeery open to any suggestions and also I can't wait to hear what you think, so don't be shy!<br/>I should also warn you that english is not my first language, so please have mercy on me and be patient with this pathetic beginner. My choice to write in english is due entirely to my love for this language and the countless hours spent reading fan fictions on this site that I desperately wanted to put to good use. I will try to check my work as thoroughly as I can, please feel free to point out my mistakes, I promise not to cry (too much). The title has been inspired by the beautiful song "Bliss" by Muse. I read the lyrics and thought it was too perfect to be true, therefore I will try as hard as I can to squeeze some in as the story goes on (fingers crossed on this one), whereas the song I quote in this chapter is called "Believe" and it belongs to the incredibly talented Mumford & Sons, which I adore and absolutely had to put somewhere.<br/>I will be eternally grateful to every gentle soul who decides to stop and take a minute to read this, it really means the world to me, as does being part of this family and being able to write about these complicated characters (more like adorable dorks) that inspire me each and every day.<br/>Oh, the rating choice comes from my desire to engage in writing shameless smut in the future (it this even gets as far as chapter two, which is still a mistery even to me), so now you know the drill, I might gave you a little action if you give me a little love.<br/>Peace out, bitches! <3</p>
    </blockquote>





	Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> This is my first ever attempt at writing fan fiction, so forgive me if I made some mistakes with the tags and other details. Hopefully I'll be able to fix it along the way and add some more while I figure out where this story is going because I am still not sure right now, we'll se how it goes. Keep in mind that I'm veeeery open to any suggestions and also I can't wait to hear what you think, so don't be shy!  
> I should also warn you that english is not my first language, so please have mercy on me and be patient with this pathetic beginner. My choice to write in english is due entirely to my love for this language and the countless hours spent reading fan fictions on this site that I desperately wanted to put to good use. I will try to check my work as thoroughly as I can, please feel free to point out my mistakes, I promise not to cry (too much). The title has been inspired by the beautiful song "Bliss" by Muse. I read the lyrics and thought it was too perfect to be true, therefore I will try as hard as I can to squeeze some in as the story goes on (fingers crossed on this one), whereas the song I quote in this chapter is called "Believe" and it belongs to the incredibly talented Mumford & Sons, which I adore and absolutely had to put somewhere.  
> I will be eternally grateful to every gentle soul who decides to stop and take a minute to read this, it really means the world to me, as does being part of this family and being able to write about these complicated characters (more like adorable dorks) that inspire me each and every day.  
> Oh, the rating choice comes from my desire to engage in writing shameless smut in the future (it this even gets as far as chapter two, which is still a mistery even to me), so now you know the drill, I might gave you a little action if you give me a little love.  
> Peace out, bitches! <3

###  Chapter 1: Believe

Dean Winchester never believed in fate. That was a hard, concrete fact.  
Of course, on second thought, Dean Winchester basically never believed in anything at all.

That changed abruptly, much to Dean’s utter surprise and discomfort, on a stormy night in the umpteenth abandoned warehouse his life just seemed to revolve around. Apparently, there was no escaping grim and old places when your job mainly consisted in dealing with monsters and supernatural entities.

Though the location for Castiel’s first appearance didn’t even remotely come as a novelty to the hunter, everything else about the angel was destined to upset every one of the (however few and frail) things Dean had managed to be certain of in his strange wreck of a life.  
Castiel had been the exception from day one and after all these years Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Sure enough, it was nothing but another known fact, but even if Dean was usually quite fond of facts and hence mostly capable to deal with them (no chance in hell that facts could stab you in the back when you least expected it, and damn if that wasn’t a legit silver lining in the hunter’s book) this particular one he really struggled to make peace with.

In his line of work, Dean was actually used to be proven wrong on a regular basis, so the shock he felt after meeting the angel didn’t come from that. Nonetheless, the sudden knowledge that some of the shit priests wouldn’t stop blabbering about was indeed true and that some form of good deity existed, _that_ had shook him to his foundations. He had always reveled in the idea that you needed to help yourself, or be lucky enough to have family to relate on in times of trouble, because no bearded dude in white clothes was gonna show up and solve your shit for you.  
It was maybe a rough way of thinking, one that some would even call cynical, but it was somehow safer, easier for him to just assume that they were alone with their problems, what with life never proving him wrong so far.  
Of course, all good things come to an end eventually.

Since Dean’s beliefs system ultimately consisted in having no beliefs system at all, it was given that witnessing the astonishing (and, to be honest, quite sassy) appearance of an Angel of the Lord, all piercing blue eyes, wild dark hair and crumpled trench coat, had not been the proverbial piece of cake.

Demons, he could understand. They were the bad guys, and needed to be eliminated, if possible, sent back to where they came from, if not. There was very little space left to hesitate, and Dean was incredibly fine with that. Questions brought up problems, problems required choices to be made, choices inevitably raised doubts, and doubts, he unfortunately knew from first hand experience, had a bad habit of eating you alive. Dean was an actions-first-questions-later kind of guy and that had (aside from some little bumps in the road, like that little deal with the King of hell to resurrect his brother, but that was about Sammy so it was different and didn’t count) worked okay enough until the very first second Castiel had showed up, thunders and sparkles and dark wings’ shadow on the wall, and the hunter’s head had gone numb with buzzing. Urgent, difficult questions and stupid, incoherent thoughts had immediately clouded his mind while he tried to take in the fact that this angel had nothing in common with the preconceived idea of his kind that he had unconsciously created in his head. In fact, the aura of barely controlled power and divine wrath that surrounded the angel had promptly shattered every image of chubby little guys with fluffly white wings and blonde curls.

Dean silently snorted at the possibility of ever telling Castiel about those first, flashing thoughts that had popped into his mind when the ocean blue eyes of the angel had locked with his own for the first time.

Dean leaned more comfortably against the hood of his beloved Baby, while the music coming out of the radio spread out through the lowered windows and into the dimly lit night. He would normally avoid settling for the random music the radio provided and usually preferred listening again and again to the classic rock cassettes he had been collecting for years, but tonight was all about exceptions and this one at least was easy for him to embrace.

A small flame erupted from his silvery zippo lighter, briefly sheding warm light on his surroundings and bringing the small clearing into life.  
Memory of the iron like determination and intensity he had read in those inhuman eyes came back to his mind while he lighted the cigarette and slowly took the first drag.

He recalled the feeling of being suddenly split in two parts, both pushing him towards two different reactions. He had briefly felt frozen. He had lost contact with his own body and surrendered to the temporary impossibility of every rational thoughts whatsoever. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was true. For a second, that brand new bubble in his brain had taken over his hunter instinct and he had just stood there, completely unaware of Bobby tensing up at his side, raising the shotgun and getting ready to shot and hit. For that everlasting second, he wasn’t a hunter facing the newest threat anymore. For the space of that second, while Castiel made his way into the warehouse, causing the lamps to explode and send sparks over his head, wicked blue eyes searching and finding his own, Dean was trapped inside that bubble with nothing but marvel for the unknown being currently walking toward him, apparently blind to anything else.  
He could admit now, as he observed the smoke dissolving before him, that the thing that had probably stricken him the most was the very unique way in which the angel had looked at him. Despite the total confidence (and did he mention sassiness?) that Castiel was showing and the emotionless expression on his face, his eyes were telling a whole other story. At the end of the day, what really caught him off guard was that Cas was looking at him like nothing else existed, like nothing else mattered and, what was worse, like he could see _through him, into his soul._ Nobody had ever even came close to looking at him like that, and he had needed that long second to process it - and then some more.

But then the second had passed, Dean had inevitably failed at finding any sense to it all and resorted pronto to shooting the strange thing. It sounded like the worst life philosophy ever but it had proven to be effective in various occasions. The ghost of the knowing smirk that the angel had directed toward them and their pathetic attempts to stop him emerged from his memories and he smiled around the almost finished cigarette.

_Sassy son of a bitch of an angel._

Dean slowly shook his head, wiping an hand tiredly over his face, trying hard to shake away the memories of the internal freakout he was going through at the time.  
It was basically a monologue that sounded like _“dude what the hell is going on who is this guy or what is it should I shoot him why is he looking at me like that seriously what the fuck is up with the Constantine look and those eyes they’re not normal damn is he even human are you shitting me right now...”._

Yeah, better not mention it to Cas, like _never._  
Dean would rather keep wondering how the angel would react than actually risk telling him and having to live with the consequences.

Some annoying deejay was rambling on about a new indie folk band in the background and Dean briefly considered driving back to the bunker.  
Still, the prospect of coming home to Sammy’s bitchface #23 and having to bear the inevitable lecture that always came with it persuaded him to extend his walk down memory lane.  
It sure as hell wasn’t pleasant, but right then, with a cold beer in his hand and the moon playing hide and seek with the tree branches, he couldn’t force himself to care.  
Also, the deejay had miraculously chosen a nice song, so he let his thoughts linger on his friend again, slowly sipping his beer.

So what if sometimes Dean felt like being alone and solo bitching about stuff he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about? It wasn’t anybody’s business but his own and if he could use a little melancholy once in a while nobody needed to know.

It would have been different years ago. He would have drowned his unhappiness in some cheap whiskey and called it a night, or he’d have picked up some random chick in some random bar, enjoyed the quick distraction and silencing any remaining pain with a well deserved night of sleep. A little smile crept his way on his face while he thought about the irony of it, he used to cure his emotional wounds with sore limbs, meanwhile breaking other hearts wherever he went. That was twisted and he was glad it was behind him. Even though he occasionally missed the quick relief, he didn’t care for it anymore. Then again, the objects of his reminiscing had changed too.

In the early ears of his hunting life with Sammy, he was so obsessed with his father that all issues related were a bitch for his early damaged psyche. His mother wasn’t exactly the easiest subject for him either. On top of everything, the ongoing suspicion he always suppressed of depending too much on his little brother, his happiness and well being, would often keep him awake at night. Back then, he lied on the course motel sheets, telling himself over and over that everything was all right, all normal, like a mantra in his head.  
He tried to ignore Sam’s snoring and eventually drifted off watching over him in his sleep, terrified by the idea of something happening to him. Of being left alone.

Dean didn’t want to delude himself anymore, he knew that little had changed and that, even after finding a new, healthier dynamic with his baby brother, the shit from his past was unlikely to disappear anytime soon. In fact, he had more or less made his peace with it. Same goes for his unfulfilled desires of having an apple pie life, a family, a white picket fence and all that jazz. He had given it a try for his brother’s sake (Dean Winchester was never one for breaking a promise), watched it goes to shit and accepted defeat. There would be no happily ever after for him, and that was okay.  
He didn’t think he deserved one anyway.

There wasn’t much left of the beer when he realized that, although having been forced to change his mind about a lot of crazy stuff, there was still plenty he was skeptical about. Starting with himself.

_“What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved.”_

He carefully tossed the empty bottle into a plastic bag with the others he had already drained, using the chance to absentmindedly raise the volume of the radio. He was enjoying the slow rough song more than he thought.

 _“You may call it in this evening_  
_But you've only lost the night_  
_Preset all your pretty feelings_  
_May they comfort you tonight_  
_And I'm climbing over something_  
_And I'm running through these walls...”_

His mind drifted back to the angel without his explicit consent.  
Dean thought the stars shone insanely bright that night, and that Cas would probably appreciate it if he were here. Plus, he would say something super deep and philosophical about the meaning of life (or lack thereof, depending on his mood) making Dean feel little and naive in all the right ways. The hunter would try to lighten the mood with some innocent jokes in order to see one of those rare, little smile light up the angel’s angular face and it all would end with Cas’ rolling his eyes and Dean handing him a beer, telling him to shut up. A similar smile came naturally and easy to his lips while he imagined it. He could nearly touch it, taste it, the familiarity of it, and that stung more than he care to admit.

 _I don't even know if I believe_  
_Everything you're trying to say to me_

He rubbed his eyes.  
He felt they were a little red from the weariness and the windy night.  
Everything was messed up.

He remembered coming back from Hell. His disorientation.  
And then meeting his savior and being informed of the task he had to complete.

_“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”_

He thought back about the first year that Cas was in his life.  
The confusion he felt after finding out about heaven and his messy chain of command, the impossibility of what what expected from him, of what it meant for Sammy.  
The fear and certainty of not being worthy enough, of being too weak to pull through.

_“For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”_

And Cas, Cas being there. Cas watching him, silently, somewhat questioning his own principles, struggling to understand Dean’s human state of mind.  
Maybe arrogant at first, though increasingly doubtful as time passed and they got to know each other better.

_“I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt.”_

He started feeling it again, the weight of the responsibility.  
All those lives, all those choices to be made and no one around to make them for him.  
To lift that weight from his shoulders.

 _“I know our fate rests with you”._  
_“Well, then you guys are screwed. I can’t do it, Cas. It’s too big. Alastair was right. I’m not all here, I’m not st—I’m not strong enough. Well, I guess I’m not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It’s not me.”_

But then they did pull trough, against all chances and rational thinking, they survived.  
Broken, bruised, sure, but they were there.

 _“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?”_  
_“Okay.”_

He closed his eyes. His head was starting to hurt.  
Maybe that last beer hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

_“I’m not a…hammer as you say. I have questions, I...I have doubts.”_

_Yeah, tell me about it buddy._  
_I basically taught you how to have them._

Damn it. This walk down memory lane was getting shittier by the second.  
It actually felt more like a fall...

 _I had the strangest feeling_  
_Your world's not all it seems_  
_So tired of misconceiving_  
_What else this could've been_

He was tired, fucking damn tired of pretending everything was okay.

He had spent forty years being tortured (and inflicting some pretty nasty torturing himself) in Hell, he had wondered around Purgatory for a year, looking for Cas, fighting creatures that he wouldn’t have been able to imagine in his worst nightmares, he had seen for himself a post-apocalyptic future where a plague was slowly destroying all of humanity.  
And still, being here, safe and sound and alive and still kind of young and fit, it didn’t seem right. He wasn’t enjoying it.

He felt older than he was, and exhausted.

He glanced back at the stars. Sure enough, they were still there, still bright.  
A little mocking now, he thought bitterly.  
The anger and resentment he was supposed to feel were gone, vanished, and he was falling. He didn’t care about the betrayal, about the fact that Cas had been working yet again with somebody else (who was, of course, pretty determined to see Dean die suffering, because life was just predictable that way), it didn’t matter that he always felt like he was keeping Cas from his world, not worthy of asking him to stay.

 _So open up my eyes_  
_Tell me I'm alive_  
_This is never gonna go our way_  
_If I'm gonna have to guess what's on your mind_

It didn’t matter, because Castiel had made his choice.  
Dean opened his eyes and stared blankly at the night sky while the sudden revelation washed over him. He felt dazed, bewildered, his head was spinning.  
Pieces of memories were falling around him like snowflakes.  
He could hear them echoing. It occurred to him that the soft rumbling he was hearing might not be all that different from his friend’s real voice.  
He had always been so curious about him...

_“Dean, I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call. And I am your friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me and now your threats, I just saved you yet again. Has anyone other than your closest kin ever done more for you? All I ask is this one thing.”_

It didn’t even matter that Cas had been wrong at the time.  
The words, the words just stuck with him and refused to let him go.

 _Say something, say something,_  
_Something like you love me_  
_Less you wanna move away_  
_From the noise of this place_

He rested the palms of his hands on the hood of the Impala, panting.  
His chest hurt with what had to be the weirdest sensation ever: he could actually feel the void, the urgency, the longing.

_Say something._

_“I did it, all of it, for you.”_

Dean sighed.  
It wasn’t louder than a whisper.  
Still, he knew he would hear him.

_“Cas”_

Everything seemed to freeze for a moment around him.  
There was no time left to second guess himself.

A light shift in the atmosphere.  
The rustling sound of wings.  
He didn’t need to turn around, but he did it anyway.

_“Hello Dean”_

8


End file.
